


Obituary W.O.: Desdemona Died

by BeautifulChaos56



Category: Death by Dying (Podcast), Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Comedy, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, look this is a story about an obituary writer, there's gonna be a bit of death, who's trying to flirt with a funeral director
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulChaos56/pseuds/BeautifulChaos56
Summary: Just last Tuesday, Desdemona Funn died under mysterious circumstances in her house, but was found utterly alone.  The murder is disconcertingly obvious, and spells trouble for Funn Family Funerals, who she specially requested to come to Crestfall, Idaho to hold her funeral.  Follow OW as he investigates the case, reconnects with old friends, and attempts to flirt with an especially grumpy funeral director.
Relationships: Obituary Writer (death by dying)/Rudyard Funn
Comments: 17
Kudos: 54





	Obituary W.O.: Desdemona Died

**Obituary Writer:** _Hello. I am the Obituary Writer of this lovely town of Crestfall, Idaho. And this… is Death by Dying._

**[quirky, pizzicato, welcome-to-this-odd-small-town-world music]**

**[typewriter keys, the bell dings, the carriage slides, more typewriting]**

**OW:** _Crestfall is a small town and, as is the nature of small towns, we don’t get many newcomers. The few we do get are regarded with suspicion and curiosity, until they become familiar enough that both feelings are sated. One such newcomer was Desdemona Funn, who worked as a taxidermist at the edge of town._

**OW:** _Desdemona, despite living here since I was a teenager, was always considered a newcomer, and a strange one at that. One that had eclectic hobbies and a paranoid personality that left her with few friends in town. But, perhaps even stranger then that, she did have **friends**. Not many, no, but the few she did have seemed to be the life-long, ride-or-die, help-you-hide-a-body kind. The kind you can all up at two in the morning because you’re boyfriend just broke up with you over text and they’ll bring 3 pints of Ben and Jerry’s and plans for how to make his death look like an accident. I have to admit, I would almost say that I’m jealous of just how good her friends were. I say **almost** jealous… because there’s no real use in being envious of the dead._

**OW:** _Oh right, I almost forgot to mention! This past Tuesday Desdemona was found dead in her house._

**OW: _This is an obituary of Desdemona Funn._**

****

* * *

**OW:** _At the very least, her death happened the way she would have wanted it to: On a dark and stormy night. The butcher had just received a call from Desdemona, asking him for some help with a large bear she was meant to have taxidermized by Thursday. With the promise of a body to cut open and some extra cash in his pocket the butcher headed over through the pouring rain with reluctant optimism. Said optimism instantly vanished when what he found was a corpse, a **human** corpse, instead._

**OW:** _I only found all of this out the next day, when everyone was informed of this tragic, tragic death. One that was obviously a murder, by the way. The butcher, after sniffing her neck and taking a lick from the injection wound discovered there, had declared her to be injected with a mixture of embalming fluid and cyanide, killing her, not instantly, but quickly._

**OW:** _I had to wonder, though, just who would do something like this? We see a… concerning amount of murders in this town but most are at least disguised to look like accidents or clear crimes of passion. This, though? This was **personal**. This was a **statement**. …But a statement for who? Desdemona? Or someone else…?_

**OW:** _Unfortunately, I didn’t have the time to investigate these questions, since Pastor Jeff came up to me just as I was going to leave._

**Pastor Jeff, panting slightly:** Oh! Oh my, I was hoping I could catch you, my dear boy!

 **OW:** What seems to be all the commotion, Pastor?

 **Pastor Jeff** : Well, um, I was hoping you might be willing to help me out with a bit of, uh, trouble I’m having with the funeral. I’m in a bit of a pickle, you see.

 **OW:** Oh?

 **Pastor Jeff** : Yes, well, Desdemona left a rather thorough Final Arrangement Documents, and while I may not approve of her- her- _taxidermist ways_ , I will most certainly not let that get in the way of giving her a proper burial. Only, she wants to be buried by her family funeral home, and I have no way of getting in touch with them on such short notice!

 **OW:** Pastor, I would love to help, but I don’t really see how…? I mean, I didn’t know her family, either.

 **Pastor Jeff** : Well, that’s just it! You may not know _their_ family, but I am _certain_ someone you know does!

 **OW** : Oh really? And who is that?

 **Pastor Jeff:** Why, none other than Jennifer Delacroix, the old radio host! She moved to the same village that Desdemona’s family lives!

 **OW:** _…what?_

* * *

**OW:** _Jennifer Delacroix and I were what you would call childhood friends of circumstance. She was a cousin on my… mothers (I think? No, maybe not...) side and just close enough in relation and age that we were generally stuck together at any sort of family event. We had a bit more in common with each other than we did with anyone else there, as we were both interested in journalism, so we dealt with it alright. We ended up fairly close, but as we grew it became more and more obvious that she just… didn’t belong here in the way the rest of us did. Maybe it was the spark in her eyes, or the energy in her movements, or maybe it was the spontaneously appearing English accent that she had despite none of us being from England. Point is, when she hit 18 she had packed up all of her belongings and driven out of town before any of us could even speak to her. The surprise party that day was very a very awkward time to be had for everyone, without the guest of honor._

**OW:** _However, before she left, she managed to slip a note under my door. It was the address to a lockbox. We became something of pen pals while she travelled to her destination, keeping in contact through letters, calls from payphones, and the occasional messenger pigeon. When she finally arrived at what was apparently her destination she gave me a knew address, this time at a “483 Piffling FM Radio, Piffling Vale” and an international number. I mostly stuck to letters, though. I found out after the first call that the international number is for the village overall, and is only usable in the bathroom for some reason…_

**OW:** _I thought I was the only one who had received any letters like these, since she wasn’t exactly close to anyone else in the family, even before her parents were tragically killed by a pyrokinetic killer tire a few years back. But apparently, she and Desdemona Funn had been friends for years before she left Crestfall, and the reason why she even had a destination when she headed out was because of Desdemona’s stories of that strange little village of Piffling Vale._

**OW:** _I may not have known about her, but she certainly knew about me. She left detailed in her final will and testament that she wanted me to call Jennifer and inform her of her passing, as well as to let her family know and that she wanted half the money she had to go to the Funns and her funeral, and the other half to go to Jennifer. They had both bonded over leaving one small town they hated only to find their niche in another one._

**OW:** _After several attempts to call and one awkwardly overheard bowel movement, I finally managed to get someone on the line._

**[A female voice that sounds flatly unimpressed at everything, but somehow that just makes it more attractive]:** ‘Ello, ‘ou’ve reached tha mayor’s office. Watcha be needin’ at this time?

 **OW:** Uh- Hello, I was actually trying to reach my cousin, Jennifer Delacroix?

 **[still fairly flat, but now mildly surprised]** : No kiddin? She was jus’ in here, actuallae. Was traen tae get an interview wit’ tha Mayor fer ‘er show. Gimme a mo, I’ll call ‘er in.

 **[now shouting, likely out a window from the sound of it]** : OI! DELACROIX! THERE’S A BLOKE ON THE PHONE FER YOU! SAYS ‘EES YER COUSIN!

 **Jennifer, very cheerfully** : Oh, OW’s on tha phone? Great! I haven’t ‘eard from him in ages!

**[sound of someone climbing through a window]**

**[flat voice]** : Ya could’a jus’ come in tha front door, ya kno.

 **Jennifer** : But this way’s so much faster! So, what’s up OW?

 **OW:** Well…

**OW:** _As I told Jennifer what had happened, her enthusiasm seemed to leak out of her. I could feel it in her silence, shifting it from cheerful to shocked to depressed. It was only when I mentioned who Desdemona wanted to do her funeral that she finally spoke up._

**Jennifer** : Wait, she wanted the _Funns_ to do her funeral? … Really, I should have seen this coming.

 **OW:** …Is that a bad thing?

 **Jennifer:** Depends on what you mean by bad. They’re almost guaranteed to turn this funeral into a three-ring-circus, but honestly? A three-ring-circus might be just what I need.

 **OW:** _I wasn’t sure quite what to make of Jennifer’s sudden enthusiasm at the idea of the funeral. As you all must know by now, I am always ready for a good old-fashioned burial, great way to spend the weekend, but the way she said it made it sound like Funn Funerals was something interesting. I found out how interesting three days later, when Jennifer, the Funns, and… someone else… arrived._

* * *

**OW:** _Jennifer and the Funns arrived on Saturday in what looked to be a party bus of all things, and a very nice one at that. Jennifer stepped out of the front looking tired, but surprisingly cheerful given the circumstances. She was also carrying what looked to be audio equipment with her, and she had the kind of determination you see on reporters who have just found a fantastic story, or on a shark that just found a particularly fat seal. I went over to greet her and she introduced her other traveling companions._

**OW:** _There was Georgie, the woman I spoke to over the phone, who is apparently only part time at the mayor’s office, and spends the rest of her time working at Funn Funerals for kicks. She drove the bus because she is “Great at drivin’ buses!”. The next person to exit was a man named Eric Chapman. Seeing Chapman felt like seeing Wyatt Hudson again, you could just tell that this man was almost utterly perfect in every way. His smile seemed to charm every living creature within seeing distance of him and then some. Chapman is apparently from the rival funeral home in Piffling Vale, Chapman’s funerals, and insisted on coming, too. He also paid for both the bus and their airplane tickets, so they couldn’t exactly turn him down. After Chapman came Antigone Funn, who I had to ask Jennifer about since she didn’t see her at first. I likely would have missed her as well if I did not regularly spend time hanging out with the Angel of Death and a haunted bike. She seemed to just sink into the shadows, even when there are none. She had a nervous look about her, but the kind of nervous that causes you to blurt out things you don’t mean to say far too loudly. Jennifer is quick to let me know that she is Funn Funeral’s mortician, and **very** dedicated to her job. And then, Finally, **He** stepped out, glaring at everyone as he went._

**OW** : _This man, Rudyard Funn (and you **must** remember his name. **Rudyard… Funn** ), looked more like death than the Angel of Death herself. He had a gaunt, strict face and eyes that were filled with the sort of viscous determination that only those who have realized their sole purpose in life is to make everyone else’s a living hell have. His suit was the cheapest thing I had ever seen, but it looked like it would be well cared for if he weren’t constantly running from angry mobs in it. He smelt of embalming fluids mixed with… cinnamon… and he glared at everyone indiscriminately, except when he reached the competing funeral director. He seemed to have saved all of his energy for an especially sour look towards him. He looked like he was the best kind of entertaining and I decided I **had** to get to know him. So, I went up and, despite my cousin’s (and everyone else’s) confused looks, I asked him if he wanted to get coffee some time._

 **Rudyard** : Wha- Now _see here!_ I will _not_ stand here and be made a _mockery_ of within _five minutes_ of arriving in this town!

 **OW** : _I don’t think he took it quite the way I meant it…_


End file.
